


Turbulence

by emynii, ObliObla



Series: Nia & Obli's Whumptober 2019 [24]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode s04e03: O Ye of Little Faith Father, Existential Angst, F/M, Hurt Chloe Decker, Hurt Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Hurt/Comfort, Whumptober 2019, Wilderness Survival, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-08 08:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21232634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emynii/pseuds/emynii, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla
Summary: Chloe hasn’t spoken to Lucifer in weeks, not since the argument that left them both raw and hurting. But when an unexpected disaster forces them to rely on each other, they’ll have to work through their issues to try to survive.For the Whumptober prompt: secret injury





	Turbulence

Why was Lucifer even _ here? _

Two feet away, hands clenched around the railing of a boat so small it could barely be called a ferry, he had never seemed more distant. More remote. More… other.

It had been weeks since he’d told her, _ Then I have my answer, _ and she’d walked out of the penthouse, out of his _ life, _ trying to stop her tears before anyone in the club saw them. But she wouldn’t lie to him, not _ now. _ Not again. She still wasn’t sure if she could accept him.

But now he was back on the job, if only for a few days. Something about a misconceived deal Ella had made, to try to ‘get you crazy kids back together,’ as she’d said. And even though Chloe was certain he wanted to, Lucifer didn’t break deals. So here he was, refusing to talk to her more than absolutely required.

The new lieutenant had ordered them up to some Podunk little town far up the coast. The plane ride to Portland had been _ torturous, _ but she was almost grateful he had managed to get an upgrade to first class, even if he left her in coach. At least she hadn’t had to spend two-and-a-half hours sitting next to someone who seemed dedicated to pretending she didn’t exist.

The drive to the little coastal town the ferry left from wasn’t even worth mentioning.

Now, as they sped away from warm(er), dry(ish) land, he stared out at the sunset, seemingly unperturbed by the unseasonable chill while Chloe—far too L.A. born and bred for this nonsense—tugged her jacket more firmly around herself. Though even he, who was—conditionally—immortal, was wearing some kind of ludicrously expensive wool coat.

“Hope you don’t get seasick,” she said with forced humor after standing in silence for the better part of an hour.

“I don’t,” he replied flatly, not even glancing over at her.

They lapsed back into the same awkward, contentious stillness she was beginning to suspect they’d never escape. She watched the waves lap against the side of the boat as they sped through the water. She thought about trying to force the issue, trying to relitigate something she still wasn’t sure had truly been settled. But, she reckoned, he wouldn’t talk unless he wanted to talk. He’d literally out-stubborned _ God. _ She didn’t have a chance.

The waves had grown choppier as she’d been staring at them, and her hands tightened reflexively on the bar. She pulled away from the railing, preparing to head back inside, whether Lucifer joined her or not. But a flash of lightning and a nearly simultaneous crack of thunder interrupted her, making her jump. Lots of places had storms, of course. She just wasn’t that used to it was all.

She made to head inside, Lucifer following behind her, as the wind picked up and the ferry rocked. Another lightning bolt shot across her vision, even closer than before, and the little boat turned, as abruptly as it could probably manage, the captain trying to get clear. Chloe was knocked off her feet into Lucifer, who caught her reflexively. Something strange flitted across his face, and he opened his mouth to speak, but she couldn’t make his words out over the thunder, now a continuous rumble that made her ears ring.

The next streak of lightning hit the water, arcing over the surface, outlining an especially large wave heading right for the hull. The boat shuddered in the water as it hit, and only Lucifer, who was barely managing to stay upright himself, kept her from falling. He was still talking and, as he yanked her to him, she caught a few words, “…that bastard _ trying _ to sink—?” when another wave hit, the spray soaking right through her clothes. But, before she could shiver, before she could even gasp, the world tipped, the water rushing up to meet her, and she tumbled headlong into sound and sensation and cold darkness.

* * *

Why were Chloe’s sheets so rough?

Didn’t she spring for the Egyptian cotton? Bed Bath & Beyond had been having a sale. And why was her pillow so hard? She brought a hand up to hit at it, fluff it up a bit, and it… groaned?

Lucifer mumbled indistinctly from somewhere underneath her, and panic spiked through her. Despite all that had happened, some part of her still believed there might be a monster somewhere within him.

Her eyes snapped open before they closed just as quickly, encrusted with salt and burning. She dragged herself across rough sand, eyes still closed, until she was several feet away, only then stopping to scrub at her face. Her head was throbbing, and her shoulder felt bruised. She remembered, vaguely, Lucifer wrenching her to the side to avoid the ship’s mast as it cut through the water. 

She dug her fingers into the damp sand, trying to calm her breathing. Lucifer was practically unconscious. He wasn’t going to hurt her. _ At least, _ her brain whispered, bringing reassurance and nausea simultaneously, _ he can be hurt around you. _ She wasn’t helpless.

But _ they _might be.

Where _ were _ they?

After several minutes of rubbing sensation back into her stiff fingers, she finally managed to force her eyes open. It was well and truly night, now, and a dense, soupy fog had rolled in. They seemed to have washed up on a narrow strip of sand.

Lucifer’s eyes were open, and fear swept over Chloe again. But they were unfocused and shining, even in the meager light. His face was pale, and his lips were tinged slightly blue. But he wasn’t shivering.

_ Shit. _

If he wasn’t shivering, he was in bad shape. Her brain warred with itself—she knew he didn’t want her help. Didn’t want anything to do with her. And she still didn’t know what to believe. Kinley had lied, she knew, but Lucifer was _ the Devil. _ And she still didn’t know what that really meant.

His soft groan pulled her out of her head, at least enough to creep forward. They were stuck here, _ together. _ She wouldn’t let the fear and uncertainty that had dragged her to Rome leave Lucifer to be dragged out to sea. “Lucifer, are you okay?”

He hummed vaguely, not moving.

She made herself touch his shoulder, a gesture that used to be so easy, before, but now filled her with trepidation. She could feel how cold he was, even through his layers. And he always ran so hot.

“M’fine…” he slurred, blinking languidly at the sky.

She bit her lip, steeling herself. They were trapped out here—she was all he had. He was all _ she _ had. His fancy wool coat was soaked, so she started there, unfastening the buttons with numb, shaking fingers. By the time she got it completely undone, he’d finally managed to shift his gaze to her. She expected anger, sorrow, maybe even fear, but all he managed was something like a leer, though his muscles were clearly stiff. “Naughty, naughty ‘tective,” he muttered. His eyes fluttered shut.

He must have been even more out of it than she’d thought. She stopped halfway through trying to pull his arms out of his sleeves and checked his pulse against his clammy neck; it was weak and thready. He stirred at her touch and blinked up at her.

“Stay with me, alright?”

He nodded, though he looked even more confused. She couldn’t help but feel grateful he wasn’t more aware.

She didn’t want to jostle him, but she had to get the coat off and he was _ so _ heavy. It was some kind of miracle he hadn’t immediately sunk like a stone. When she managed to get him onto his side to pull the clinging cloth away, he coughed wetly and tipped with the motion, dragging himself through the sand, saying something she couldn’t quite understand.

“Lucifer…”

“No, no, _ no… _” he whispered, pulling away from her touch.

“I need to—”

“I’m _ fine _,” he shouted, and she flinched away. He dragged himself up to stand, staggering. “See?” He turned to her, raising his arms defiantly, suit jacket hanging off one side. His shirt was stained red, and he reached for his side before his expression crumpled and he fell, toppling backward into the water.

“_Goddammit _ Lucifer!” She gritted her teeth and yanked him back up onto the bank. Triage. _ Triage. _She yanked his shoes and socks off and bundled his jacket up under his legs, trying to remember how to treat shock.

“_Sorry _…” he said indistinctly as she moved to examine the wound, reaching for the buttons on his shirt. “I didn’t… I…”

“Shh.” She moved back up to his head, brushing dripping hair from his face before she could think too hard about it. “It’s—”

The moment he regained awareness shot through the air like a bolt of lightning. His bleariness and his pain disappeared in an instant as his expression closed off. He scrambled away from her, getting as far away as he could on their little strip of sand. His gaze flitted from her to their surroundings, but he kept an eye fixed on her movements.

She glanced at the wound on his stomach. She could see, now, where the fabric of his shirt had torn. And through the gap she could see the grit in the gash, could see how it was still bleeding. She made to get up, to go to him, but his eyes flashed with fire, and she fell back.

Not human. _ Not human. _ The words clawed at her mind, over and over. But he was Lucifer. He was _ Lucifer, _ and Lucifer was bleeding. She dragged herself up, taking a step forward. “You’re hurt. I—”

_ “Stay away,” _ he hissed.

She held her hands up, trying to bury everything she didn’t have time to feel.

He grabbed at his shirtfront and tore it off. He dropped it on the sand and touched the wound, hissing again. His fingers came away red. He ripped off a clunk of unstained fabric and reached for his jacket, pulling out his flask. He opened it, twisting to pour whiskey down his side. But the motion tore it open further, and he dropped the flask, jaw clenching.

“Lucifer, just let me help.”

_ “Help?” _ He barked out a laugh. _ “You _ want to help me?”

“I-I’m not going to hurt you.”

“No?” She had rarely heard him so bitter.

She bit back her automatic response, trying to gentle her voice. “I wouldn’t. I—”

“Wouldn’t you?” 

There was such suspicion in his eyes it made her heart clench. He scrambled for the flask but groaned.

She sighed. “Lucifer, _ please _ just…”

He watched her for another moment, wincing, before he exhaled roughly. “Fine.”

She picked her way across the sand and knelt beside Lucifer. She grabbed the flask and the piece of fabric and poured a measure of whiskey on the cloth before turning to look at the wound. Memories flashed in front of her eyes. Lightning illuminating a sharp piece of the wreckage coming up out of the water. Lucifer pulling her out of the way, the jagged edge cutting into his side.

She swept the cloth against the laceration, and Lucifer inhaled sharply. But he didn’t move away, merely watched her as she wiped away the grit, sterilized the wound as well as she could, and put pressure on the deepest part that was still bleeding. She tried not to make eye contact, instead looking out over the waves.

The moon had come out, and the light reflecting off the water was strangely shimmery. She watched it, entranced. She thought she might’ve heard Lucifer say something, but it was lost to the tide, coming in, going out. Coming in, going out. Coming in…

Going…

Going…

She was lying on the sand. Her whole body ached, now, and her mouth tasted terrible. “I-I…” She tried to talk but her tongue wouldn’t cooperate. She couldn’t hear anything but a quiet rustling noise above her, could only vaguely feel her jacket being pulled off her arms. She should’ve checked herself for injuries after she’d regained consciousness, but now that the numbness from the cold and the adrenaline rush from the fear had subsided, the wounds were making themselves apparent: a pounding sore spot behind her left ear, what was probably a spectacular bruise on her right shoulder and upper arm and, on her left arm, a—

Her eyes snapped open involuntarily to Lucifer pouring whiskey on her arm from his flask, and she heard a whine she vaguely recognized as her own voice.

“Apologies,” he muttered through gritted teeth. She winced as he let go of her and tore a few strips from what was left of his shirt. She watched, still stunned, as he dressed the wound with a well-practiced motion. When he finished he pulled away, tied the scraps of his shirt around his waist to bandage his own wound as much as possible, and settled on the other side of their little sandbar.

She wondered where he’d learned such a thing, but her head was still pounding, and she pushed the thought down. She licked her lips, tasting salt. Dehydration would be a problem soon, but she didn’t have the energy to try to come up with a solution. A shiver wracked her body as she forced herself to sit, rubbing at her forehead. The wind picked up, and she wrapped her arms around herself. A dozen feet away, Lucifer, breathing shallowly, seemed to be doing the same.

She ignored him, ignored her discomfort, trying to compartmentalize. _ Focus, Decker, _ she told herself. _ Assess the situation. _

Her jacket was lying next to her, so she grabbed it and dug through her pockets. Besides her sidearm—which was still miraculously fastened to her hip—she had nothing but her very wet wallet, and, thankfully, her small multitool. Her phone was gone, lost in the tumult, not that it would’ve been particularly helpful. There was some driftwood on their little sandbar, but it was soaked.

Everything was soaked.

Lucifer’s coat and jacket were only a few feet away, so she searched them too, all while he watched her silently, but if there’d been anything, it was long gone. She shook her head. “You don’t happen to have your lighter, do you?” she asked, not really expecting an answer.

He shook his head sharply, fiddling with his flask. He unscrewed it and drained the rest of the contents, a look on his face like he wanted her to protest. There were so many reasons why that was a bad idea, but she let it go. If they were going to survive, they’d have to work together sooner or later.

She ignored him, taking off her shoes and socks, wringing out all the water she could, putting the socks back on. She knew she’d have to do it with the rest of her clothing, but she hesitated. It wasn’t that she was embarrassed, precisely; she was, somewhat, but survival situations easily overrode that. No, undressing in front of him felt almost like betrayal—of him, of herself, of this thing they had tried so desperately to have. But she had ruined it. And he had ruined it. They, with all their miscommunication and their jagged edges, had broken it together.

As he started to do the same, almost in tandem—though he was very deliberately not looking at her—sorrow sank its sharpness into all her softness, this mockery of intimacy almost too much to bear.

When she was redressed and as dry as she could manage, she tried to sleep, curling her body as tightly as she could with her injuries, trying to preserve what little heat she had. But it was still windy, and her teeth were chattering enough to make her jaw ache. Or… had been. When had they stopped? 

She blinked herself back to something like awareness, sat up, and looked over at Lucifer.

He was sitting in the same position he’d been in when she’d lain down, eyes dim and unfocused, hands clenched on his knees. Every part of him fairly screamed, _ Back off. _ But what other choice did she have?

“Lucifer…”

His head tilted slightly in her direction, but there was no recognition in his gaze.

She intended to say, _ I think we might need to conserve body heat in order to stave off hypothermia. _ But what came out was, “S-so… cold…”

“Detective?”

But she was losing his voice, was losing everything but the low thrumming of the waves. She vaguely heard Lucifer get up, curse from the pain in his side, and slowly walk over to her, feet crunching in the sand. A jacket was wrapped around her shoulders, but larger and softer than her own. There was a body, near her but not touching her, radiating heat, though somehow less than it seemed it should. And there was a voice.

"No, _ no, _ Detective. You can't die. You...you have to roll your eyes at me and tell me off and-and reprimand me for being such a—"

She mumbled something, but she wasn't sure what she'd meant to say.

"Don’t fall asleep, Det... _ Chloe." _ He said the word like it was foreign to his tongue, but also like it was the only thing he could cling to. "Stay awake, stay awake, now. Here."

She vaguely felt his hand brush hers. She tried to blink her eyes open but it didn't work.

"Just take my hand, alright?"

It was like walking through fog, like trying to move through molasses, but she managed it, eventually, fingers tightening around his. He was still cold—she could feel him shivering—but so, _ so _warm, and all she felt, leaning against him, trying to remember how to open her eyes, was comfort.

She was too tired for fear.

At least, for now.

* * *

Chloe had never seen the sun rise over the ocean.

The indigo and deep blue that had painted the sky over the long, indistinct night—where dreams of flayed flesh and burning eyes intermingled with the soft reality of ocean waves—slowly gave way to vibrant orange and pink, blurred by the fog into a watercolor canvass. She watched the colors lighten; it was so much easier to focus on the sky, the waves, the chill that still suffused her bones, than the reality of her situation. Lucifer was asleep beside her where they were hunched over, her jacket badly wrapped around his chest, the dressings on his side bled through. The subtle motion of his chest left her torn, as it seemed she always was, these days, between terror and reassurance, between guilt over the former and uncertainty over the latter.

She was really thirsty.

He woke with a sputter and a sharp intake of breath, and she flinched away instinctively, before trying to right herself. _ Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid. _ She’d seen him; she knew who he was. And there was such softness in his gaze, underneath the pain.

But then he saw her aborted motion, or the fear in her eyes she couldn’t quite dispel, or maybe it was some kind of devil thing to sense her trepidation, and his expression closed off again. He sat up and pushed down his grimace, shifting away from her as much as he seemed capable of. He glanced at the sand, at the waves, at the sunrise. “Not a dream, then?” he asked flatly, though she saw his hand tremble as he ran it through the mess of his hair.

“No.” She licked her lips absently. Salt.

He got to his feet, brushing sand from his pants, and turned away. His back was smooth and unblemished, and she shook her head. Wings. _ Right. _ He rolled his shoulders in what felt like a practiced motion, and, though he was turned away from her, she could almost hear the frustration radiating off him. He made the motion again and hissed, clutching at the wound on his side.

She squinted at the haze. There didn’t seem to be anything near them at all. And they’d need water soon. She didn’t want to ask, but… “C-can you fly us out of here?”

He turned on his heel “You want to _ use _ my devilish side, now?”

She stammered. “I-I just—”

And his anger was as strong as it was sudden. “You fear it, you tried to _ poison _ me over it... and now you demand it, hmm? Because it’s _ useful _ to you?”

“No! No, I just… Lucifer, we—”

“There is no _ we, _ Detective.” He seemed to be preparing to brood again, turning away from her, but she pulled herself up, ignoring her various aches, and stomped through the sand until she could glare at him.

“Yeah, there _ is _ a we. The we that’s gonna die in the middle of the goddamned ocean unless we work _ together.” _

He flinched at ‘god’, but she felt nothing but satisfaction. At least he was _ listening _ to her. “What, ah, what do you mean, ‘die’?”

She blinked. Blinked again. Opened her mouth. Closed it. Exhaled roughly. _ “Dehydration,” _ she hissed.

He frowned. “Right, but that’s—”

“A few days. Probably less considering”—she gestured vaguely—”everything else that’s happened.”

“Bloody mortality,” he grumbled, but when she opened her mouth to argue again, he waved his hand. “Fine, fine. I’ll try again.” He rolled his shoulders as he’d done before, but with more obvious intent. Agony flashed over his face, and he gritted his teeth.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, before she could remind herself this wasn’t something they asked each other anymore.

He sighed and sat back down, running a hand over his face. “I haven’t been able to since…”

A vision of bloody feathers drifting gently to the ground assailed her, along with a strange dizziness. She was starting to suspect she’d swallowed some seawater during their time in the ocean.

He tensed his shoulders for a second, but nothing happened. He scowled.

“Right,” she said, taking a deliberate step back. “So, any other ideas?”

He shut his eyes, clasping his hands together, apparently ignoring her again. The dizziness grew stronger, and she half-fell, half-sat heavily back on the sand. He growled and threw his hands up. “Damn it, Amenadiel!”

“He isn’t”—she hesitated—“answering your prayers?” It still sounded ridiculous, but she supposed this was her life now. She might as well try to get used to it.

“No.” He stared at the fog surrounding their little patch of semi-dry land, but he didn’t seem to have any better luck seeing through it than she had. He kicked one of the pieces of driftwood. It floated haphazardly, before washing a few inches down the surf. She could feel herself losing her connection to the present again, but couldn’t make it stop. The piece of wood was rocking back and forth with the waves. It was so much easier to just close her eyes and stop thinking...

“Dad _ dammit, _ Detective!” Lucifer shouted from somewhere above Chloe as she drifted back into consciousness again. She’d apparently reopened the cut on her arm, and Lucifer was redressing it, still with that aura of steady competence overlaying the frenetic energy.

She stared, first at the wrappings, then at him. “You didn’t know that humans die of dehydration, but you know how to dress a wound?” Her voice sounded weak even to her own ears.

He shrugged, and she wondered if there was any concern left in his inscrutable expression. “Demons don’t have to drink water, but they can still get infections.”

The thought she’d pushed down the night before came again, along with an image of an injured, bleeding Maze scowling while Lucifer, jaw clenched in concentration, wrapped a massive gash in linen. The figment took a concerning amount of effort to shake, and she blinked intentionally to clear her head. A bit more awake, she sat up, pulled up her sleeve, and turned her head, slowly, to examine the bruising on her right bicep. It had been too dark to really see before. The pattern was a little indistinct, but still clear enough to show the force of individual fingers.

Lucifer breathed in harshly, and she looked up at him.

He was frozen, inches from her, but he also had that look on his face that precipitated retreat.

“Don’t run,” she said, trying to hold off her own panic. She needed him; they needed each other. “You-you were trying to…” _ Keep me safe, _ echoed in her mind. And she _ knew _ that, but she couldn’t make herself finish the sentence.

“It seems that everything I touch I ruin,” he whispered to himself, so quietly she barely heard it over the waves, but every word was a knife in her heart.

And some part of her wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him, but she no longer knew how. She was no longer entirely certain that she wanted to.

Eventually, he shook himself, clearing his throat. “I should take a look at that head wound.”

She let him examine it, not that there was much he could do, muscles tense with their proximity. They sat in silence as she tried to bite back nausea, clear her head enough to think properly. The morning sun slowly burned away the mist and a small island appeared, still hazy but distinct, edged with green. “We need to go there.” She licked her lips again, feeling how they were increasingly chapped. “There might be water.” She tried to stand, but nearly fell flat on her face.

Lucifer blinked at her dubiously, looking between her and the island. He sniffed, still shivering lightly. “That could be a mile away. Two, possibly.”

“And?” She knew what he was getting at, but she couldn’t think of any other way. And she needed to do _ something. _ This limbo was too painful to stay in, and not just physically.

He glared at her, knowing she knew. “An hour in the water at the very _ least? _ We may lose consciousness.” He picked up his coat and tried to wring the water out of it, rather unsuccessfully. “Again.”

The sun was beating down.

_ “Detective…?” _

She dragged herself bodily back to awareness. Lucifer was watching her again, not moving.

She shook her head, hoping the pain would keep her awake. “You-you said you’re only vulnerable around me.” She could still see the cut in his chest from the axe even though it had left no scar. 

“Yes.” His eyes narrowed at the change in topic. “What about it?”

“So why don’t you just go? Just... swim away until you’re immortal again?”

He hissed in a breath and turned away. 

She blinked. “No, you can’t keep doing this.” She stepped closer, pushing down her fear, until she could see his face again. “Just tell me!”

“Because you might _ die!” _ he half-yelled, eyes wide and glaring. “I might not be able to find you again.”

“Why do you even care?” she asked in a low voice, uncertain if she even wanted to know the answer but unable to stop herself.

He shook his head.

She started pulling her jacket off again, along with her socks, throwing them at the ground with all her misspent frustration “I’m _ doing _ this. Come with me or don’t.”

“_Fine _ .” He gave up on his coat, instead unbuttoning his pants, yanking them off. And, rather abruptly, he was naked. It had been a long week, a _ long _ few months, and Chloe couldn’t help the laugh that erupted from her mouth. It seemed that even though Lucifer was _ the Devil, _ he was still the same dork who stripped at the drop of a hat.

“What? Have _ you _ ever tried to swim in wool trousers?” He scoffed, shooting her an affronted look so familiar it made her insides clench. “Never again.”

He tied the legs of his pants around his waist and glanced at her while she tried desperately to avoid eye contact. “You’re certain you want to do this?”

“Yes,” she said, flagrantly lying. They stepped out, together, into the water, shivering instantly. “Holy _ shit!” _

He gave her a very strident ‘I told you so’ expression, but remained blissfully silent.

She took another step, moving deeper until she could barely stay on her feet. She tested the stretch in her muscles, making sure nothing was seizing up, then looked over at Lucifer. “Ready?”

He grimaced again. “Better now than never, I suppose.”

And they swam.

* * *

“Detective? _ Detective?” _ Someone was leaning over Chloe, brushing hair from her face. But she was _ so _ cold, and her insides felt _ wrong, _and before she could even think to try to talk, she was floating back into a shining oblivion.

* * *

“Amenadiel, you bloody feathery bastard, what could _ possibly _ be important enough to go angel-radio silent?!”

Chloe was lying on soft earth, salt crusted on her lips. Her head throbbed with her pulse.

Lucifer was whispering, now. “Brother, _ please, _ I...I don’t know what to do. The detective won’t wake up…”

And she drifted off again.

* * *

"You brought floods! You can't bring one measly rainstorm?" Lucifer was shouting, somewhere nearby, but Chloe couldn’t focus, and she lost his next words, only catching ‘Father’ and ‘you complete arsehole’.

She tried to lift her head, but only ended up with more nausea for her trouble, bile coating the inside of her teeth.

“Detective?” And she remembered Jimmy Barnes’ studio, pain flaring in her shoulder, slowly losing consciousness as...

* * *

There was a quiet crackling in the distance, and Chloe wasn’t quite as cold as she’d been. Her body seemed to be composed of nothing but points of pain and uncooperative limbs. There had been numbness, before, she realized, but now everything was sharp and intense, cutting into her. And Lucifer was clearer as well, though his voice was pitched low.

"When you left, I... didn't think you were ever coming back." He sighed roughly, and she wished she could make her tongue move, to reassure him or even chastise him. Something. _ Anything. _

He cleared his throat and continued, "And some part of me wishes you hadn't...”

The ache grew stronger, and blood rushed in her ears as she tried to move, to speak, to do anything more than breathe shallowly.

“...but I'd rather be twice-damned than never see you again."

And something too bright and jagged to be sleep dragged her down into its abyss.

* * *

“D’you think I _ make _myself vulnerable around you?” Lucifer asked softly, apparently stoking the small fire. “If I gave myself my devil face, why not this?”

Chloe, head still aching, managed little more than a hum; Lucifer didn’t seem to notice.

“Does that make it my fault if we die here?” He choked out a bitter laugh. “Add it to the list, I suppose. And what sort of an end is that for the morningstar? Felled by a little cold water.”

But then he sobered, and she heard him shift, close enough she could feel the warmth of his body over the heat of the fire. “I’m not really here because Miss Lopez tricked me into some sort of deal. I… It was foolish of me—cruel, even. Seems I can’t help being cruel…”

He hissed in a breath. “Regardless, you deserve the truth, even if I’m too much of a coward to actually tell you when you can hear me.”

He sighed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then withdrew quickly, his fingers shaking. “I know you’re afraid of me,” he whispered. I don’t blame you. I _ couldn’t, _ but…” He sniffed

“I can’t help wanting the things I cannot have.”

And darkness came to pull her down again.

* * *

A raindrop hit Chloe’s cracking lip, and her tongue slipped out involuntarily to catch it. But she couldn’t move, couldn’t even pry her eyes open. She was so tired. A drop hit her nose, sliding uncomfortable against her nostril, but she couldn’t make herself brush it away.

There was a throbbing abyss behind her eyelids, and she could only watch it as it pulsed red and black and dizzying white.

Rain. It was raining. They were going to be okay.

But Lucifer was muttering to himself, no longer angry or resigned but almost _ fearful. _ “No, no, n-n-no, _ please. _ What did I do? What did I…?”

Chloe coughed, trying to clear her throat. “Lucifer, are you—?”

“Is-is-is this to be my punishment, then? For the detective? For _ Cain?” _

Cain. _ Pierce. _ The man she’d almost married. The man Lucifer had killed. Chloe gritted her teeth, trying to force her eyes open again.

Something was whipping through the air, knocking raindrops onto her face as Lucifer continued, shouting now. _ “Nothing _ for Uriel. Not a chastisement, not a _ word. _ But I kill one of your precious little humans and you do _ this?” _

Chloe dragged her hand off the ground, scrubbing at her face, trying to get her body to do _ anything. _ But it wouldn’t cooperate.

“Or...or did I do this to myself?” There was a horrible sound of something scraping against a tree. “But I don’t feel guilty for _ him. _ I…”

Chloe finally managed to open her eyes. Lucifer, pants back on, was standing a few feet away, expression panicked, hands clenched tightly in his hair, wavering on the spot.

And he had wings.

But not like the ones she’d assumed he had, lined with the white, softly glowing feathers that had filled the loft, that she’d seen in replica at the auction years ago. Instead, they were batlike, leathern, like those she’d found in illustrations at the Vatican.

“Detective…” he breathed.

She couldn’t move, could hardly think.

A tear dripped down his nose, distinct even over the rain. “Why?” he asked softly.

“I…” But something was screaming in her mind, and she could only lie and watch.

The wings flared out, shaking in the air, fluttering with his rapid breaths. “Why are they like this?”

“I don’t _ know!” _ she heard herself say, panic suffusing her voice.

He toppled over, then, landing hard against the trunk of a tree, one wing’s claw ripping into the bark again, the other almost toppling the makeshift shelter he’d apparently built up against another tree out of fallen branches and leaves, using her multitool to shape the wood. Its braided canopy was draped over her, she realized, now, keeping the worst of the rain off of her face.

Despite her various aches, she forced herself to sit up._ It’s just Lucifer. It’s just Lucifer. It’s just Lucifer. _ But as she tried to lean forward, unsure what she was going to do but feeling like she had to do _ something, _ red, ravaged flesh seemed to take root on the back of his hand where it was clenched on his knee.

She fell back to the ground. “What…?”

He blinked at her, blinked at his hand, but, even as they watched, the burns crept across his skin, up his arm to his shoulder, down his fingers to leave claws, small but frighteningly sharp, where his nails had been. They tore into his trouser leg, and he shouted, chest rising and falling faster and faster as the flayed flesh wrapped around his torso, creeping toward his waistband.

“No, n-n-no, _ please. _ Please, just…” He panted, and the devil-flesh tore up his neck and onto his face, warping his features into what was becoming increasingly, _ painfully _ familiar. _ “Stop!” _ he cried, and she realized tears were still falling from his eyes, even as flames blossomed within them, slipping onto his cheeks only to turn to steam.

_ Could you accept me like this? _ he’d asked, broken but still in control. But now he had no power over this at all, reaching up with trembling hands to grip at his shoulders, to clutch at his face, leaving scratches that were hard to see over all the burns. But she could clearly see the agony on his face.

And some part of her wanted to run, desperately, to walk into the freezing sea if she had to, just to get away from this monster shouting words in strange languages she didn’t understand. But Chloe Decker wasn’t one to flee from someone in pain. She didn’t have to accept Lucifer to not want to see him hurt.

She stood up, wiping raindrops from her eyes—or tears; it was hard to tell—and stepped closer.

“Stay back!” Lucifer said harshly, voice rising over the panicked mutterings he’d fallen back into. “I might… I might—”

“Lucifer,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “Stay with me, okay?”

He was digging at the ground, now, ripping up ferns and roots as if he could bury all his sins in the soft ground. His gaze was hazy, but he managed to fix it on her. “Det— _ Chloe,” _ he whispered.

She nodded. “I know this is a lot—”

He laughed roughly; it turned into a cough, and he bent over double for a moment, wings shuddering, before sitting back up.

“I need you to keep it together right now,” she continued, drawing on every de-escalation tactic she’d ever learned. “We can deal with this _ together, _ later. I’m not going anywhere, but, Lucifer”—she inhaled sharply—”we’re still freezing, we haven’t had any water since yesterday, and I…”

She wavered on her feet, barely managing to keep herself up. “I’m _ so _ tired. Just… _ please, _ can you fly us out of here?”

“I _ can’t,” _ he forced out through clenched teeth. His hands slipped from his face to the arch of his wings, and he shook. His claws dug into the leathery skin, and he _ howled. _

“Okay, okay…” Chloe made herself breathe deeply, wanting to go to him but afraid of getting too close. “What can I do? Why can’t—?”

_ “It hurts.” _ His voice was half a hiss, half a scream. “The bullets… I don’t understand… But I can _ feel—” _ His head thudded hard against the trunk of the tree. His eyes drifted closed.

The rain continued to fall, and Chloe listened to it for a moment before she worked up the energy to move. No matter what else happened, they’d still need water. She grabbed a stick and dug a hollow in the ground before lining it with excess leaves Lucifer had gathered while she’d been unconscious. She wondered where he’d learned how to build the shelter, the fire, then remembered. If he was older than humanity, he had been around when they lived much like this. But it wasn’t the right time for more existential questions, so she pushed the thought down. She stoked the fire until it was again warming her where she settled under the lean-to. She hoped he could feel its heat too.

Lucifer’s twisted chest rose and fell steadily, and she was only heartened by it, now. Eventually, the hollow was full enough she could kneel beside it, letting the water pour into her hands. She stood carefully, trying not to spill, but her hands were shaking a bit from the cold. Lucifer was slumped against the trunk, still shivering, despite the fire, his eyes closed. When she approached, he forced them open partway, blinking in confusion.

“What are you doing?” he rasped, and his wings shook where they were held tight against his back.

“You’ve gotta drink, Lucifer.”

His eyes narrowed and flared with fire. “Have _ you?” _

She shook her head. A little water dripped between her fingers. “Don’t be difficult. Come on.” She knelt down next to him, trying to avoid shuddering at being so close. It was just Lucifer. He would never hurt her. She had to believe that. She found she _ did _believe that.

“I-I don’t—” But she brought her hands up to his face, forcing him to either drink or turn his head away. He hissed, but ducked enough to accept the water. His lips were horribly chapped against her fingertips; she wasn’t sure if it was from the dehydration or the burns.

He made a soft sound like he’d been missing it more than he’d known, leaning into her involuntarily. It was hard to be terrified of him, even like _ this, _ even so close. Not after the day they’d had. Not after what he’d said, what he’d done for her.

When her palms ran dry, his face stayed pressed close to her hands, his breaths hot against her fingers. And when she rose, the edge of terror passed over his ravaged face, calming only when she dropped to her knees beside the little pool.

She conceded to drink some herself, but then she dipped her hands again and returned to him. He drank deeply, more willingly now, but still watching her with eyes that were becoming increasingly less alien the more she saw them.

When she finished she stayed next to him, and he frowned. “Why subject yourself to this?” he asked quietly, gesturing at the scars, the burns, the wings.

She stammered. “You-you need the water.”

“Yes, but why do you care?” And she wished there was bitterness in his tone, but there was only disbelief. He turned his head away, his wings drawing up, scraping against the bark. She wondered if he was trying to give her the chance to pull away. She didn’t take it.

Instead, she slid forward on her knees, so close she could feel the heat radiating off him, warming her properly for the first time in days. “I don’t want you to be hurt,” she whispered.

He glanced back at her sharply. “But you don’t want to be here. You don’t want to be anywhere near me.”

“I—”

“Don’t lie,” he said roughly. “You said...you said—”

“I said, ‘I don’t know’!” She bit her lip. “You gave me an ultimatum. What was I supposed to _ do, _Lucifer?”

“Be able to accept me!”

She shook her head again. “No. No, that’s not how this works.”

“How _ does _it work, then?” he asked sullenly.

“I needed—” She was going to say ‘time’, but she cut herself off. That wasn’t true, was it? That wasn’t _ really _ what she’d needed. They sat in awkward silence for long enough that it started to rain a little harder. She cleared her throat, nodding to herself, finally certain of her answer. “I needed faith.”

_ “Faith,” _ he said derisively. “In what? In _ me?” _

_ “Yes, _ in you!” When he stared at her blankly, she ran her fingers roughly through her hair. “Look, I can never really know if this is all some kind of trick, or con, or...or _ temptation...” _

“It’s not!” he protested, but she only shook her head.

“I’m just Chloe Decker, a nobody, and—”

“But you’re—”

_ “Lucifer.” _ She clenched her jaw, ground her teeth together. “You are the _ actual _ Devil. I have no way of knowing what’s real and what isn’t—” He tried to interrupt her again, and she held up a hand, lowering her voice. _ “All _ I have is what I feel. And what I feel is…”

She trailed off, so many emotions breaking over her she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

“What?” Lucifer asked faintly, but her ears were filled with the rush of blood.

And then the truth came down on wings of faith—angel or devil, it made no difference anymore—and finally, _ finally _ she knew.

“I love you.”

“You...?”

“I _ love _you,” she repeated, “and I won’t let anything else matter.”

“No,” he said, a standard, automatic denial she was used to by now. “You can’t. I don’t des—”

“It’s not about what you _ deserve. _ It’s about how I feel.” She was crying again. This was too much. _ Everything _ was too much. Her head fell forward involuntarily against his shoulder.

He froze, but when she stayed there, pressed against him, he slowly relaxed. It was becoming hard to stay awake. She felt fingertips without claw-nails brush hair from her face, and she pulled away. Lucifer looked like he normally did, the last traces of red disappearing from his eyes, though his wings were still splayed out behind him. He was watching her with something like awe on his face.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered.

She shook her head and stood, offering her hand. “Come on, let’s get out of the rain.”

He took her hand numbly, rising to his feet, allowing her to shuffle them to the little shelter, barely managing to fit his body and his wings underneath. He held them stiffly behind him, and stared at her again when she settled next to him.

In the process of moving, her knuckles brushed over his and he shook, though it was different from the shivers that still wracked him. She pressed closer for a moment before gasping in pain; she’d forgotten about the gash on her arm in all that had happened.

Lucifer cleared his throat. “It, er, started bleeding again, so I cleaned it while you were…” He lapsed back into silence.

Chloe broke it awkwardly before it could stretch on like it had. “I-I shouldn’t have suggested we swim here. It was… impulsive.”

He managed half an eyebrow waggle, but then he shook his head, turning away. “I think that’s five times now,” he said softly.

She frowned. “Five times now what?”

He glanced over at her. “That I’ve thought you were dying.”

Her breath caught and for a second she could only stare. “Well, I... think I’ve actually caught up, now.” The cabin. The explosion. The moment when she’d realized...

He laughed, though it was hardly a joke and certainly wasn’t funny, with wrenching chuckles that made his wings flutter behind him. “What a pair we are, hmm?”

She tried to laugh, but it felt too much like crying, and she shook her head. “Lucifer, I’m…”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, me too.” She allowed her head to lean against his shoulder again and, as she succumbed to a real sleep, she thought she felt the soft edge of a wing curl against her back.

* * *

“Detective?” Lucifer whispered.

Chloe mumbled, still mostly asleep.

“Come on, Detective. Wakey-wakey.”

It felt like a migraine and a hangover were Odd Coupling in her brain, throwing things around and yelling at each other incessantly. “Ow…”

“None of that, now. Up you get.”

She blinked her eyes open. It was still dark, and the fire had died down during the night, but she could make out Lucifer’s outline as he crouched over her. She sat up, using his elbow as leverage before she could think twice about it. They made eye contact for a second before they both looked away.

She stood, trying not to fall over, and he joined her, wings flaring out. “I think I can fly us out now,” he said, beating his wings, once, twice, the fire flaring up for a moment before abruptly going out.

She breathed out a sigh of relief. “Okay, what do—? How should…?”

He frowned. “Just, er, stand on my feet?”

How was it that _ this _ was so much more uncomfortable than all the fear and confusion. She was too tired for more feelings. She made herself stride forward, step unhesitatingly on his feet, and wrap her arms around his waist. His hands were concerningly unsteady against her shoulder and back, but then his wings came up and he tightened his grip. “Close your eyes,” he told her.

She barely managed to get them shut before they left the ground and something shimmered and clenched in the air, breaking against her eyelids. After a long, breathless moment, she felt cold marble against her feet as they slipped off Lucifer’s. He steadied her, then stepped away. She opened her eyes.

They were in his penthouse. 

Her gaze slid from Lucifer, who was rolling his shoulders, apparently trying to hide the wings, to the rest of the apartment. It was generally _ spotless, _ any mess usually indicative of some kind of confrontation, but now every available surface was covered in bottles and glasses, pizza boxes and takeout containers. Designer suit jackets hung from the back of couches, the piano was covered in a thin layer of dust, and the bar was nearly empty.

As she walked further into the space, soaking up the warm L.A. atmosphere, she could see the bed, sheets wrinkled not from sex but from restlessness and neglect.

“Lucifer…” she breathed.

He didn’t respond, and, when she turned back around, she found his wings were gone but there was shame on his face.

But he put on a smile and made his voice light. “Pardon the mess, a few too many wild p—” He inhaled sharply. “Anyway, I…”

“Has _ anyone _ else been up here the past few weeks?” She barely knew why she was asking except that guilt was roiling in her gut, now, and she was still so, _ so _ tired.

He sank onto one of the sofas, tossed a pizza box onto the floor, and shook his head roughly. “No.”

The guilt grew claws, tearing up her throat, bringing nausea with it. She wanted to prostrate herself before him, beg forgiveness. But he’d hurt her much like she’d hurt him, and it was such a mess she didn’t even know how to start untangling it. So instead, she sat on the couch next to him and simply asked, “What can I do for you?”

He sighed. “You should go home, Detective. I’ll invent a plausible scenario for how we returned so quickly. You don’t have to worry—”

_ “Lucifer.” _

“What?”

“I wasn’t delirious. I know what I said on that island.”

He frowned. “I wouldn’t want to presume…”

“And I _ meant _what I said,” she told him, a little sharply.

He shook his head again. “You need water, Detective. You’re still…”

Chloe stood up, stomped over to the bar, pulled a clean glass out of a far corner, filled it with water, then returned to stand in front of Lucifer. He tried to speak, and she held up her hand to stop him, slowly drinking the entire glass. When she was done, she set it on an empty spot on the coffee table, and flopped back down on the couch, glaring.

“I don’t see what—”

“I love you,” she said, as loudly and clearly as she thought necessary to make sure he couldn’t pretend not to hear. “And I’m sorry, and if you _ want _ me to leave, tell me and I will.” She paused, waiting for him to respond.

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

“That’s what I thought.” She took a deep breath, and when she let it out there was a grin tugging at her lips. “Now, where are we ordering from? I’m _ starving.” _

He stared at her like she’d lost her mind, and maybe she had. But, frankly, she didn’t care. Lucifer may have literally out-stubborned God, but she was Chloe goddamn Decker. They were going to talk, they were going to figure things out, and everything was going to be _ okay. _

Even if it took an act of God—or maybe the Devil—to sort it out.


End file.
